


A Thin Line

by Atheraa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Collars, Dark Harry Potter, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Humiliation, I´m-not-nice-to-Voldemort-in-this, M/M, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Post-Hogwarts, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Slow Burn, Submissive Voldemort, Torture, Violence, abuse of prisoner, elements of master/slave, every-other-tag-triggers-you-can-think-of-for-this-kind-of-story, submissive tom riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atheraa/pseuds/Atheraa
Summary: War changes people, forces them to become the monsters from their nightmares. Light and darkness bleeds together leaving behind a dark, mattered grey. The war is over and everyone thinks Voldemort is dead. In which we turn the normal Voldemort wins and Harry is captured, into Harry having the presumed dead Lord Voldemort imprisoned and at his mercy. Harry has been told revenge is said to solve nothing, but why then does it taste so sweet? Why is it so addictive to see your nemesis, and destroyer of your life, brought so low? To feel the power of having a life in ones hands.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read all the tags before reading this story. I´m not in any way being all that nice to Voldemort at all, this is more of an excuse to torture him. If any of these things are not your cup of tea, disturbs you in any way or can be trigges, please don´t read this. I assume there will be plenty of other stories on this site that you´ll find enjoyable :)
> 
> And after having a really bad week and just wanting to torture someone myself I started playing with the idea of Harry actually fully giving into his ´dark´side for once. And here we are... I feel somewhat sorry for Voldemort, but it only seems to last a couple of minutes before my brain starts conjuring up new ways to torture him. Promise I haven´t abandoned Last Resort. That chapter is the next one up ;)

**“You cannot defeat darkness by running from it, nor can you conquer your inner demons by hiding them from the world. In order to defeat the darkness, you must bring it into the light.”**

  
**― Seth Adam Smith, Rip Van Winkle and the Pumpkin Lantern**

The whole house was silent as Harry walked through the entrance hall. The grand muggle house he´d bought somewhere at the outskirt of Surry had been abandoned for quite some time, but an army of house elves and no budget had seen to that the house had been up and running again in record time. The elves were gone now though. He had dismissed them, as he didn´t need them. He had a home, and this wasn´t going to be it.

The house was too large if he was going to be honest. Three stories tall and with more rooms than he cared to count. The kitchen alone was bigger than an average London flat. He had to admit he did like the garden though. It was large and secluded and with the right wards in place one could use the large outdoor space behind the house to play Quidditch.

Perhaps in a couple of years, he thought. When everything had settled and he finally had gotten some closure. He absently straightens one of the small tables as he passed it on the way. He must have bumped into it the day before. The small lamp on top moved and he caught it before it fell. It tilted and the light shone on the wooden door almost hidden in the corner of the hall. Unlike the rest of the doors in the house, this one was old and worn. Made from heavy oak and metal. Harry assumed it was an original that had survived time and owners.

It was a pain to open though, which he assumed came from lack of use. He had to oil the hinges just to make sure it was actually possible to open the bloody thing, but it still remained stubbornly heavy and unyielding. Hopefully that wasn´t a bad sign for things to come, he smiled slightly as he started on the stairs down into the basement of the house.

His steps echoed on the damp stonewall around him, and with a flick of his hand he silenced the sound. He wasn´t all that interested in announcing his approach. The stairs panned out into a hallway about 20 feet wide. A couple of lamps along the right side made it possible to see where one was going. On either side of the hallway there were more wooden doors. Those were not as unyielding and heavy as the one at the top of the stairs. They led to storage rooms. Most were empty but a couple were filled with furniture that has been removed from the upstairs during the renovating. Harry hadn´t decided yet if he wanted to keep them or sell/give them away. Hermione and Ron might want some of them when they brought their own house, or perhaps Molly would be interested. They would fit right in at the Burrow.

He could of course take some of them to Grimmauld Place. He had started to renovate the house, getting rid of all the dark artefacts lithering around and the portraits. Especially the portraits, and especially the one in the hallway. He didn´t care that it was Sirius’ family, he wasn´t keeping them. Kreacher was in charge of the house elves he´d borrowed to get the house cleaned out. The painting and other changes he could do himself. After all he´d need something to occupy his mind for a while.

Kinglsey had owled him and asked him to join the Aurors, or at least come by for a talk about it. Harry had replied and accepted the offer of a talk, but he wasn´t sure if he wanted to join the Aurors at that moment. Everything was still too fresh, too painful. He´d lost count as to many funerals he had been to the last couple of weeks.

Fred´s had been the worst. The sight of Molly and the rest of the family in tears had made Harry want to kill something or someone. Not that it would be possible there and then, but now. Now it could be possible, only the problem with killing was that you could only kill someone once, in theory. Voldemort had been the exception there he guessed.

It had been two weeks since the last battle. Two weeks of waking up in panic in the middle of the night, not remembering where he was, thinking he was still on the run, looking for horcruxes and fighting to stay alive. He hardly ate, only when Kreacher pushed at him or one of his friends.

The Wizarding World had been celebrating and mourning. Celebrating that the war was over, mourning their dead and loved ones. The Ministry was a complete chaos, but Kinglsey was quickly making headway to get things in order at least. The trials of the captured Death Eaters had been postponed for the moment, and Azkaban was overfilling with prisoners. Kingsley had to ask for help from the German and French Ministries to have some of the prisoners transported over seas until their trials could be held. The dead had been returned to their families, if any, to be buried. Those funerals were mostly held quiet, only the closest family present. For those who didn´t have a family the Ministry had arranged for the bodies to be cremated. A lot of the families of the dead Death Eaters had chosen the same. It was better than a grave.

And Hogwarts… Harry sighed. The castle was a mess. It would need to be rebuilt over the summer if there was any hope for the students to return to it in September. He assumed it would be possible however, half the Wizarding World had volunteered to help, and although Hogwarts was a private school, the Ministry had opened it´s wallet to help with the founding.

He stopped in the middle of the hallway. He needed a moment to push down his anger before continuing. It wouldn´t do if he lost his temper too early.

At the end of the hallway there was an open space to the right, about the size of a prison cell. There were no bars in front of it and when approaching it one would assume that it was possible to walk in and out of the space as one wanted. It was only when you where standing directly in front of the space you could see the wards that were simmering. There was no window either and the lights were always on, making it impossible to decide whether or not it was day or night.

“Back then?” The question was accompanied by a sneer that was very out of place on the beautiful face. Harry just smiled and leaned against the wall beside the wards. “Yes. Still here I see?”

The question earned him another glare from the prisoner who was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The light reflected of the silver bracelets at both his wrists. Harry had no doubt he had tried to tear down the wards repeatedly in the two weeks Harry had been gone, but he also knew the wards would hold.

Digging into his pocket Harry pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet and threw it through the wards. It landed with the front page up. “The Ministry buried you today, or rather, cremated. No reason to waste place in the cemetery. In the eyes of the world you are gone. This house is secluded enough that no one will come calling and the basement is more or less soundproof. I assume you´ve figured out that the wards won´t come down by now, or are you still trying to find a way to by pass them?”

Brown, almost crimson eyes landed on the paper, but he made no move to pick it up. Harry thought he could see some sort of feeling flicker over the man’s face, but it was hard to tell when it was tilted downwards towards the floor. The lack of answer was really more of an answer than an actual one, Harry thought. He wondered if the previous Dark Lord felt something at the sight of the headline announcing his cremation along with the large picture of Kingsley who had declared that he was going to rebuild the damage Voldemort had done to society.

“Is that so. And still. Here I am.” A sharp smile followed that showed all too many teeth as the man spread his arms out to his side. Harry just smiled. He wasn´t going to let Voldemort get under his skin this time. “Yes, here you are.”

At least he had calmed down somewhat, Harry thought. The tantrums, threats and heartily attempts to harm him two weeks earlier had been amusing, but annoying. Voldemort had not taken kindly to waking up in a cell without his magic. The fury had been so intense at for a moment Harry hadn´t been sure if the bracelets would hold and had started to prepare himself for the very real possibility that Voldemort would find a way around them and kill him. Luckily they had held, much to Voldemort´s disappointment. It hadn´t stopped him for making threats though and in the end Harry had just left. Voldemort had been screaming bloody murder for him to come back, but Harry figured he might need some time to cool down. Two weeks seemed to have done the trick.

Voldemort seemed calm at the moment, but Harry could see the tension in his movements and in the lines around his mouth as the man clenched his teeth. “And now what?” he finally asked. It sounded like the words were being dragged out of him. Harry grinned.

Yes, Voldemort hated not being in control of the situation. That and he was probably bored out of his mind after being stuck in the cell with absolutely nothing to do but think. He had been fed of course, Harry wasn’t interested killing him by letting him starve to death, but the meals had been delivered at different times each day, making it impossible to track the days through the meals. It would make the older man more disoriented. Isolation was a powerful tool. Nothing made the mind unravel faster than being completely isolated with hardly any human contact or other form for stimulation.

Harry decided to ignore the question for now. “I buried another one of my friends today,” he said, feeling anger flash in his mind before he managed to reign it in. The need to hurt something was so strong. “Third funeral this week. She was in my house. You raving lunatic of a second in command cut her main blood vein and let her bleed to death alone and afraid.” His one was level, but the anger started to simmer again, just below the surface. He could see Voldemort getting annoyed that he hadn´t answered his question, but he didn´t care. The man held no power at the moment.

“Are you expecting me to apologise?”

Harry laughed. Merlin, the man was incredible. “No. I´m not even sure you can feel remorse. Splitting you soul six times, what the hell were you thinking, pet?”

“Careful, Harry,” Voldemort snarled, obviously angry at the mentioning of the horcruxes or the use of the term of endearment. The man took a couple of steps forward coming to rest in the middle of the cell. Harry couldn’t care less. He stopped laughing and stood up straight.

“Or what, pet? There isn´t much you can do at the moment is there? You´re magic is well out of reach and as much as I know you want to torture and kill me, those possibilities are of the table too.”

Voldemort grinned and Harry thought the resemblance to a shark was a bit too close for comfort. “I don´t need magic to kill you, you stupid child.” He held up one of his hands, turning it slowly. “The muggles are quite adapt at killing with out magic, so I think I´ll manage.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to get through the wards, if I may ask?” The question sent a wave of annoyance over the handsome face before Voldemort smiled once more. “Oh, I´m pretty sure I don’t have to worry about getting out to kill you. At some point you´re going to come in.” Harry tilted his head, still smiling and stepped closer to the wards.

He held out a hand and let it glide through the invisible wall. “Yes, and who´s to say you actually can hurt me even if I come in?” He let his hand twist on the inside of the wards before pulling it back out. He laughed softly.

“I guess there is only one way to find out.” Voldemort all but purred and made a gesture to suggest Harry was more then welcome to enter.

He considered it. On one hand he really wanted to give his anger an outlet, and he knew he was in no danger from the previous dark lord. The bracelets would stop him from doing anything permanent. Not that Voldemort knew that, but he would find out eventually - the hard way. Tilting his head slightly to the side he stepped through the wards.

Voldemort punched on him like a tiger. The first blow landed across his cheek, sending him reeling backwards. The next blow sent him into the wall, his breath knocked from him as he hit the bricks. He gasped for air, but managed to dodge the next blow, which sent **Voldemort** slightly of balance and Harry used the advantage to land a blow on his own to the other mans stomach and a swift kick to back of his knees, sending Voldemort to the floor. Harry knew he had the advantage of being younger and more educated in the ways of fighting. Voldemort had always been dependent on his magic, and what he knew about fighting would probably not be from experience.

Instead of following up, Harry backed away and allowed Voldemort to climb to his feet. As he approached Harry could see the uncertainty that flickered in the brown eyes. Yes, Voldemort wasn´t used to physical fights. Harry waited as they circled. His wand was tucked away in the holster on his right arm; perhaps he should have left it outside the cell, but to late.

The next hit missed, but the kick didn´t and Harry doubled over. He managed to avoid the swift elbow to the back of his neck that would have sent him to his knees and instead used his own body to slam Voldemort against the nearest wall. They both groaned in pain as they hit the floor, and before Voldemort could gather his wits enough to come up with a new plan Harry used his weight to pin him to the floor. That lasted for about five seconds before Voldemort twisted and sent Harry flying with a powerful kick.

Harry managed to stay on his feet, but he had lost his balance and felt an arm around his neck, cutting of his air supply. Instead of tugging at the arm, he rammed his elbow backwards, smiling as he could feel it make contact with Voldemort´s cheek. The sound of pain was equally satisfying. He turned and swept his feet, sending Voldemort crashing to the floor once more. The man managed to break the fall somewhat using his hands, and before Harry could remember to step away, he had used the same trick on him. He landed hard on his hip and groaned as his head made contact with the stone floor.

For a moment the whole world spun and then he could feel his hands being pinned to the floor. He blinked and saw that Voldemort had discovered the wand hidden in the holster.

“Are you really stupid enough to bring your wand in here?” Voldemort snarled, letting go of Harry´s hands to grasp at the wand. The moment he came in contact with the wood he howled in pain and let go as fast as he had grabbed for it. He scooted backwards, clutching his hand that was now sporting a pretty nasty burn.

Harry coughed and pushed himself to his feet, picking up the wand in the process. “Yes, I forgot to mention that I put the same kind of wards on the wand that I´ve put on the room.” Waving a hand towards the wards for emphasis.

Voldemort climbed to his feet as well, but stayed back. His hand was pressed towards his chest and he seemed to hesitate now that Harry had his wand out. Harry didn´t feel much guilt for the burn. Hopefully the man would learn not to try that again. “I guess we can call that a tie,” Harry said, straightening his clothes and pushing his hair away from his face. He felt battered and bruised, but better. Some of the anger at disappeared during the fight. He used his wand to heal the bruises and aches, smiling at Voldemort, but making no move to help the other with his bruises and injuries. Brushing of the dust that had gathered at his robes he smiled at the dark lord.

“As entertaining as this has been, I do have more important things to do, pet.”

“Being a hero perhaps? Or more loved ones to bury?” The voice was taunting and as much as Harry knew he was just trying to shake him, it worked and he could feel something snap inside. Before he could really consider what he was doing he had raised his wand.

“ _Crucio_.” He put all of his anger, hate and complete distain for the man in front of him into his magic, and the power of the spell sent Voldemort flying through the air and into the wall. He crumbled to the floor and twisted and turned as the pain washed over him. Harry held the spell. For how long, he had no idea, but as blood started pouring from Voldemort´s nose and he finally half cried out in pain he released the spell.

Voldemort slumped to the floor and curled up. For a moment Harry wondered if he was still conscious. The aftershock of the spell still lingered in his body and Harry felt slightly intoxicated by the feeling of power. Of being able to hurt someone who had hurt him, his friends, killed and tortured and made his life a living hell for as long as he had been alive. A small part of him felt slightly guilty for torturing someone in no position to defend himself, but then again, how many times hadn´t Voldemort done the same thing?

The man stirred on the floor and tried to push himself up, only to fail. Apparently giving up, it seemed like he decided to just stay on the floor for the time being.

Harry didn´t care. He turned and walked towards the wards. “Perhaps you should consider thinking before talking, pet,” he called over his shoulder as he exited the cell and made his way back up into the house. Yes, he did feel a lot better. Perhaps this hadn´t been the worst idea.

***

He didn´t bother checking on his guest the next day or the day after. The man got food and watered delivered and other than that he could manage. All in all it took about a week before he returned to the house and his unwilling houseguest.

Voldemort was slumped against the same wall as last time, arms crossed when Harry arrived outside the wards. The look he sent was pure hatred and Harry smirked. Good. The bowl on the floor was still full and Harry raised a brow. “Not hungry, pet?” The flash of annoyance over the nickname was just wonderful.

“If you could conjure up something edible then perhaps,” came the barely controlled response. Apparently Voldemort was tired of the porridge. No wonder, it tasted absolutely nothing, but it contained all the nutrients he needed. Looking more closely it didn´t look like the man had slept much either. Perhaps not so difficult to understand, it had to be hell on the body to sleep on the stone floor.

Considering it, Harry summoned a plate of food from the kitchen, bread, butter, cold cuts and some fruits along with a glass of juice. Nothing special, but far better than what Voldemort had been eating for the last three weeks. He showed the man the plate. “Fine. Ask nicely and I´ll let you have it.”

Anger flashed in the brown eyes, along with hunger, and Harry could see him warring with himself. For someone so old his emotions where ridicules easy to read, but perhaps that was because Voldemort wasn´t all that used to the body he was currently in. He expected pride to win out over the hunger. Not that it mattered. He had all the time in the world. He waited until Voldemort seemed to reach and decision. He scoffed and looked away. Harry just shrugged and put a stasis spell on the food before placing it on the floor just outside the wards.

“As you wish.” He stepped through the wards and noted in satisfaction that Voldemort seemed more wary than the last time he had visited. Apparently being held under the Cruciatus Curse was not something the man appreciated. Good.

He stopped in the middle of the room. For a moment he just stood staring at Voldemort, who stared back. “What do you want, Potter?” The voice was laced with anger that seemed barely controlled. Apparently the man had figured out that threats and violence wouldn´t get him anywhere. “Or are you just keeping me her for your own amusement, something to torture until you grow bored and kill me?” The tone was mocking him, but Harry could hear the underlying uncertainty. Voldemort was on unfamiliar ground and Harry wasn´t behaving as the man had come to expect. That made the man unsure on how he could use the situation, manipulate things in his favour.

Voldemort expected him to be the Saviour, the light wizard who had conqured the Dark Lord. The Gryffindor with honour and a conscience. Unfortunately all those things had disappeared during the war. All Harry was left with most of the time was a burning, dark anger that he had no way of letting out. Until now.

“Yes,” he answered simply. Why deny the truth? He saw the answer registered with the older man as disbelief settled in his eyes. Then he laughed, a smooth, dark sound. “Oh, Harry. You don´t have it in you to do either of those things. You are the Boy-Who-Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, Dumbledore’s little light hero. Torture and maiming isn´t in your repertoire little lion.” The grin was all teeth and sharp edges now.

Pulling out his wand, Harry twirled it around his fingers. “And yet you´re worried.” And he was. Harry could see the slight uncertainty in the brown eyes and in the tense lines around his eyes and mouth. Voldemort wasn´t too sure about his own words and the mentioning, albeit from himself, of his morality hadn´t helped the matter.

Harry watched as Voldemort pulled a mask of indifference over his face. “Worried I might be bored to death long before you get around to killing me yes.” The words and the tone didn´t quite seem to be on the same page, but Harry gave him points for trying.

Tilting his head to the side he pointed the wand at Voldemort. “ _Crucio_ ”. He didn´t put all his energy and anger into the spell this time, but enough to make it hurt like hell from the way Voldemort whimpered and twisted on the floor. This time he didn´t hold it too long. Bellatrix had been right though, you had to mean it if the spell was to work. In this case that wasn´t the problem. Even the sight of Voldemort made his skin crawl and the anger rise.

Voldemort stayed on the floor, heaving for air and apparently trying to get his breathing under control.

“You know,” Harry began, conjuring up a chair to sit in. “Originally I had planned to just kill you and be done with it. But, to be honest that seemed like the easy way out.” He watched as Voldemort managed to push himself into a sitting position before getting to his feet with help from the wall behind him. The tight lines of pain on his face told Harry he wasn´t feeling all too well.

“You´ve made my whole life a living hell, killing my friends and family for what? A misguided delusion of the importance of blood?” When Voldemort moved to speak he held up his wand. “If you utter one word I´ll put you back under the curse.” The threat made Voldemort close his mouth and Harry felt an incredible feeling of power wash over him as the man for once did as he was told.

“Why shouldn´t I return the favour and make you´re life a living hell before I eventually kill you? One would think that would be what they call poetic justice.” The outraged look on Voldemort´s face told him he disagreed, but for once the man kept silent.

“You are right about me being the Saviour and the symbol of the light side. And two years ago doing this would have turned my stomach and made me sick for days, but you know what? Things change. People change. War changes people and unfortunately you changed me. Not for the better I can assure you. You killed my Godfather, my parents, my friends and my mentor. Everyone I care about is either dead or scarred for life because of this bloody, useless war you dragged us all into! Why shouldn´t I get a bit of revenge for all the suffering you´ve put me through?” His voice was levelled and he sounded like he was talking about the weather, but the anger twisted and turned inside him, wanting no more than to lash out.

“You attacked a bloody school for crying out loud. You forced children to fight in a war where they had no place in! The amount of magical blood you spilled that night will take decades to replace. You´ve torn families apart and brought nothing but suffering and tears to our world.” As he talked Harry could see something akin to worry bleed into the brown and crimson eyes. Not out of guilt, but more because it seemed like Voldemort was finally realising that he might have misjudged Harry.

Suddenly tired, Harry stood and vanished the chair.

“And for that I don´t see any reason why I can´t punish you instead of giving you a clean and simple death. Remember when you asked Dumbledore at the Ministry all those years ago why he didn´t try to kill you? Do you remember what he answered? _Merely taking your life would not satisfy me._ There are other ways of destroying someone, pet, that doesn’t involve killing.” He didn´t give Voldemort a chance to respond, simply exited through the wards and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**“How odd that we spend so much time treating the darkness, and so little time seeking the light. The ego loves to glorify itself by self-analysis, yet we do not get rid of darkness by hitting it with a baseball bat. We only get rid of darkness by turning on the light.”**

  
**― Marianne Williamson, [Tears to Triumph: The Spiritual Journey from Suffering to Enlightenment](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/45580775)**

Harry watched as Voldemort tried to pull himself together on the floor. The man was currently gasping for air, his breath making damp appear in the air due to the cold temperature in the cell. He was curled on his side, face hidden by one of his arms, the hand on the other was curled into a fist. The body shaking in the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse.

Twirling his wand around his fingers on his right hand, Harry leaned against the wall and waited. He was itching to curse the man again, but he knew he had to be careful unless he wanted to ruin the former Dark Lord’s mind. Something that would be a pity as it would take all the fun out of it.

“I don’t take lightly to things being thrown at me, Tom,” said Harry, looking towards the bowl of food that the man had hurled at him as soon as he had entered the warded cell. He had managed to duck in time and the bowl had flown through the wards and crashed against the wall on the other side of the hallway, breaking into several pieces before landing on the stone floor.

He had cursed the man without thinking, fury and anger welling up in him at the pointless gesture. If the man wouldn’t eat then Harry would force him, but perhaps there was another way to go about this. He couldn’t blame Voldemort for being tired of the tasteless slop after six months.

On the floor Voldemort stirred slightly, his breaths becoming more even as the racing puls he no doubt had, was calming down. Slowly he tried to raise his head, but even that seemed to be too much of a strain on his body because he quickly gave up and stayed curled on the floor. The black robe was pooled around him in stark contrast to the pale face and dark hair. It was torn and ripped in some places, but mostly clean as the cell was charmed to send a cleaning spell through it every other day.

A slight feeling of power rushed through Harry’s body at the sight of his once nemesis having been brought so low. A small part of him however felt guilty for what he was doing – torturing an unarmed and helpless man. However, that thought was quickly covered by pictures of dead and mutilated bodies strewed across the great courtyard of Hogwarts. The victims that had survived but was permanently scared for life both psychologically and physical. Harry could feel the dark anger rise at the mental images of the full ward of St. Mungo’s the days after the war, the blood, the pain.

Even now, six months later, the Wizarding world was still suffering. Kingsley had done a remarkable job pulling the Ministry back together, but even they could not perform miracles. The Wizarding world was still hurting, badly, and the only thing that could heal those wounds was time. How much time nobody knew.

A whimper drew his attention from his dark musings as Voldemort seemed to try and lift his head once more. This time he did succeeded in pushing himself to a half sitting position. His head was still bent, and he was struggling to even out his breathing. The dark hair that grown somewhat, was obscuring his face, but Harry assumed the eyes were burning with anger. Apparently being left alone for three months had not helped on the man’s mood.

Walking over, Harry bent down and took a hold of the dark-haired man by the hair, pulling at it and twisted Voldemort's head enough to see the hate that burned in the brown eyes. Ah, good. It wouldn’t be any fun if the man gave in to easy. Alas, this was Lord Voldemort, so Harry highly doubted six months in relatively isolation, combined with a few rounds of the Cruciatus curse would break him. None the worry though, Harry was pretty sure even the infamous Dark Lord had a breaking point, it was just a case of finding it.

“I am assuming you won’t try to repeat that in the future?”

The anger and frustration in the brown eyes and in the gritted teeth and set jaw was like a balm on Harry’s anger. “Well?” He asked as Voldemort refused to answer. The man gritted his teeth even further and for a moment Harry wondered if it was possible for the man’s molars to crack at the pressure of which he was apparently clenching his teeth.

When no answer was forthcoming Harry sighed and let go of the dark hair. The sudden release of the tight grip on his hair seemed to come as a surprise to Voldemort as he nearly collapsed on the floor.

Harry crouch down on his hinds and watched as Voldemort found his balance once more and pulled himself to a sitting position with his legs out to one side, his right hand supporting his weight, no doubt to keep him from toppling over again. The eyes were glaring a hole in the floor from the looks of things.

“Am I to take it that you are tired of your current diet, or that you wish to end your life by starving to death?” Harry asked reaching out a hand towards the handsome face and smirking as Voldemort couldn’t contain a small flinch as Harry gently let his fingers grip him around the jaw and lifted the face. With a snarl Voldemort wrenched his head away and with a surprisingly amount of strength managed to back away.

The vicious backhand across his face at the action took him by surprise however and Tom crumbled to the floor once more as his right arm failed to support his weight. 

“Don’t pull away from me,” Harry warned, letting a note of steel slip into his voice, making it clear he expected to obey. Not surprisingly he didn’t get an answer.

Voldemort had hardly spoken a word to him the last few visits. The man har tried, and failed several times to attack him physical, but as his strength dwindled with no exercise and lack of proper food, Harry’s advantage had just increased. The last two times Voldemort had simply seemed to have given up on that approached and had more or less ignored Harry from the moment he arrived.

Not that Harry cared much for whatever curses Voldemort felt the need to yell at him, and the lack of response had worked fine as an excuse to punish him. Not that Harry needed an excuse. Lord Voldemort had after all handed out the Cruciatus Curse as if it was candy and enough of his followers had stayed followers simply because they were too afraid of the promise of torture and a painful death, to leave.

Standing back up Harry conjured up a chair and sat down. On the floor Voldemort pushed himself backwards until he reached the wall where he leaned against it, head hanging low and eyes closed.

“Which is it then, tired of the food, or trying to starve yourself to death? I can assure that if it’s the last one I’ll be more than happy to force feed you, although I’m pretty sure you haven’t reached the point of wanting to die just yet. Considering you split your soul by the means of murder when you were sixteen in fear of dying. Your first victim however was killed by your pet basilisk. She still haunts the second-floor bathroom.” Still no reaction. Mhm, seemed the man was hoping that by not letting himself be provoked he might manage to starve of any more punishment. Too bad for him then. Harry didn’t actually need an excuse.

Waving his wand, he conjured up a small table. Standing up he left the warded cell to pick up the tray of food he had placed out of sight in the hallway. As he came back through the wards, he could see Voldemort lifting his head slightly to follow his motions. Sitting back down he placed the tray on the table and took one of the grapes and put into his mouth.

The sound of Voldemort’s stomach growling made him smile as he bit into the green grape, feeling the slightly tight skin give away as his teeth pierced through it. He had no doubt the man was hungry. The bland mix he was fed was designed to keep him alive, not to be a gourmet meal.

Harry bit into another grape before picking up a piece of bread with cheese. Standing up he walked over and crouched down in front of Voldemort. Apprehension and wariness clouded the dark eyes, but there was also a glimmer of hunger and Harry could see him swallowing at the sight of the food. Good. Holding out the bread he waited. Voldemort’s eyes flickered from the food to Harry’s eyes. Whatever the man saw in them made him swallow once more and look away.

“Go to Hell, Potter,” the man muttered in a voice hoarse from screaming. It was just loud enough for Harry to hear it. A smirked spread over his face as Harry answered. “Oh, I think I’ve had my share of experience in what hell constitutes as. And this isn’t a request. It’s an order. Eat,” he finished, his voice hardening with the expectation of being obeyed. Still the former Dark Lord kept staring out into the air, pretending to haven’t heard him. Harry’s smirked widened. Good, it wouldn’t be fun if Voldemort gave into the game to early.

“Let me make this easier. You either eat this or I’ll put you back under the Cruciatus Curse, or perhaps I’ll leave you starve until you are an inch from starving to death, before bringing you back. I have heard it is quite painful. When the body doesn’t get enough food, it will start eating on the muscles. You’ve already lost weight from lack of exercise-“

“And who’s fault is that?” The question was snarled as Voldemort turned to face him, his eyes blazing with anger, frustration and what looked like despair. Still, among the other feeling, the hunger stood out in contrast as Voldemort’s eyes were focused on the bread still held in Harry’s hand.

Feeling the dark anger rise at the question, Harry snapped back. “Your own fault. You are the architect behind two damnable wars that have brought nothing good our world. You claim you only wanted what was best for the Wizarding world, but that was just excuses to pad your own ego and need for power and control to make of for the lack of it when you were growing up! Yes,” he continued at Voldemort’s slightly surprised look, “I know all about your childhood and your school years. Dumbledore was kind enough to share before you forced poor Draco to try and kill him. Who punishes a man by turning his sixteen-year-old son into a murderer?” The itch to curse or beat the man in front of him was once more overwhelming, but he managed to reel back the anger in the last second.

Voldemort opened his mouth, probably to make excuses Harry didn’t want to hear. “Be quiet,” Harry commanded softly and was for a second surprised when Voldemort closed his mouth. The brown eyes were still shining with emotions, but the fact that he obeyed made a curl of satisfaction unfold in Harry’s stomach.

“Now, would you like to figure out how it feels to starve combined with more pain, or would you just eat?” Holding up the bread once more Harry surveyed the different emotions on Voldemort’s face were warring against each other. In the end it seemed to settle on something that looked like resignation. The man sighed and reached out to accept the food.

Harry clicked his tongue in disapproval as he pulled the food just out of reach. The incredulous look that appeared on Voldemort’s face was hilarious. “I’m not a bloody pet to be handfed,” he snarled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Standing up, Harry returned to his chair. “Suite yourself,” he said, popping the piece of bread into his own mouth as he pulled out his wand. Raising it to cast the Cruciatus curse once more he watched as Voldemort’s eyes widened. “Don’t!”. The word seemed to have slipped out without Voldemort meaning for it to happen, because he looked slightly surprised at the sound of his own voice.

“Now, you have had you’re chance to eat, and you refused it. I don’t give second chances. However,” he said as he saw a flicker of fear dart across the handsome face in front of him, “I’ll give you another option just this once.” He waited to see if Voldemort would outright refuse any options and just accept the pain instead. Although Harry had worn down a lot of the pride in the former Dark Lord, there was still a lot left. Enough to make Voldemort keep his cloak of superciliousness and haughtiness.

Harry waited and, in the end, Voldemort lost his patience. “What?” He snapped, seemingly having to force the words out. Good, that meant he was hungry enough to might consider Harry’s proposal.

“Kneel,” he said simply, watching as the word registered. He wasn’t sure how he expected Voldemort to react. Perhaps laugh and ask him if he was insane or tell him once more to go straight to hell by the fastest possible route. “Remember graveyard?” Harry mused looking away from Voldemort and staring at the wall. He could still see the image of that day clear as a picture in his memory. “What was it you said again? Bow to death was it? Well, kneel as you made all your deluded followers do unless they wanted to be tortured within an inch of their life.”

Turning his eyes back to Voldemort he smiled, not that there was any warmth behind the smile. “Kneel and I’ll leave the tray and you can feed yourself. Alternatively, I’ll be happy to torture you for the rest of the evening and then leave you here alone until my alert charms tell me you a close to death. What will it be, coming within an inch of what you fear the most in this world, or a simple gesture in a room where no one can see you?”

The decision should probably have been an easy one, but Harry knew that nothing of what was going on in Voldemort’s head would be easy for the man. The pride warring with the ingrained fear of death that had led Voldemort to splitting his soul so many times that he had come as close to insane as possible.

Picking up a piece of melon wrapped in ham, Harry popped it into his mouth. Voldemort’s brown, almost crimson eyes were following the movement hungrily and his stomach growled again, even louder this time.

Slowly, as if every moment was painful, which Harry thought it probably was, Voldemort moved his legs, so that instead of sitting with his back against the wall he was now kneeling on the floor. The eyes were burning with rage, but at Harry’s unimpressed glare he dropped them to floor. Good, Harry thought feeling pleasure curling in his stomach at the sight of Tom Riddle on his knees, eyes downcast and looking submissive for all the illusion that it was, and on the heel of that a slight feeling of arousal.

Perhaps, just perhaps there were other ways of going about this, other than just using the man as his personal punching bag to let of steam. The humiliation and reluctant obedience that was rolling of the man was fare more intoxicating than the painfilled scream from the torture Harry had administered over the last months. 

It was an interesting twist he had to think more about.

“Good boy,” Harry praised and could see a muscle tick in Voldemort’s jaw at the condescending praise.

Still, reluctant obedience was still obedience, and needed to be rewarded.

He stood, taking the tray with him and put it down on the floor in front of his unwilling prisoner. “Enjoy.” He reached out a hand and watch as Voldemort clearly considered flinching away from his hand, but apparently the lesson from before had stuck because he managed to keep still.

“Good,” Harry praised running a hand over the dark hair before again turning to leave the cell. Shivering slightly in the cold air he pulled his cloak tighter around himself. There was no warmth in the cell and the cold November air made the cell freezing cold.

Stopping just short of exiting the wards he turned slightly.

Voldemort was still staring at the food, but not touching it. While Harry watched, he carefully reached out towards a piece of meat with a hand that was shaking slight, and looking like he expected the tray to disappear the moment he touched it. The relief in his tense shoulder when nothing happened was all too clear.

Feeling slightly generous at the obedience the man had shown, Harry found a handkerchief in his pocket and transformed it into a large, thick wool blanket. Walking back towards Voldemort he placed the blanket on the floor by the tray. He ignored the flash of wariness that flashed over Voldemort’s face as he approached, the man probably thought he was going to remove the tray. Turning to exit the cell he flicked his wand silently and raised the temperature in the cell by some degrees, not enough to be pleasantly warm, but enough to not be freezing cold.


End file.
